


Weird Ass Hipster Coffee Shop

by randythrandy24



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cussing, Feuilly does lots of things in the name of Poland, M/M, i may change the rating when the smut comes cuz i like to write explict smut :D, jehan being a precious creature, lots and lots of bad words, that is why it's rated M, there will be sex in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randythrandy24/pseuds/randythrandy24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coffee shop!au in which Jehan is a weird ass hipster barista and Bahorel just wants to go back to fucking bed and sleep his hang over off butttt noooooooooooooooooo Feuilly just had to drag him to this damn coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which the coffee shop is discovered

**Author's Note:**

> This will be multi-chapter. Not sure how long between each update. There will be smut in the future so I may change the rating because I like to write really explicit smut that isn't at all vague. Hope you enjoy this! Feedback is welcome.  
> (✿◠‿◠)

Bahorel was standing next to Feuilly in some weird ass hipster coffee shop at seven in the fucking morning and he wasn’t happy to say the least. He had been up all night drinking and planned on sleeping off his hangover all day today, but no. No, of course not. Feuilly just had to drag his happy ass out of bed at the most ungodly hour of the morning, throw a shirt in his face, and tell him to shut the fuck up and get dressed because they didn’t have any coffee left in the house and he didn’t want to go by himself because something something blah blah blah Poland. Bahorel had stopped listening at that point. And so that is how he found himself standing in line at some weird ass hipster coffee shop that smelled more like cloves and flowers than an actually coffee shop should.

He couldn’t see all of the barista from where he was standing behind the counter but he could tell that this girl was going to be way too annoying to deal with at seven in the fucking morning. He glanced at Feuilly who was frowning next to him, obviously wanting the barista to hurry the hell up so he could get his caffeine and be done with it, and Bahorel wanted that too. He wanted Feuilly to get his coffee so he could go back to fucking sleep and not have to deal with all this bullshit. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. This was not a good way to start a day; hell the day hadn’t even fucking started itself yet. 

When they finally reached the counter, after what felt like forty years, but in reality was just seven minutes, Bahorel still hadn’t seen what this barista, with daisies in her braided red hair, looked like. He wasn’t sure why he was so interested in the girl anyways, maybe it was because it was seven in the fucking morning and he needed to look at something other than Feuilly’s stupid fucking face before he punched it in and got arrested for man-slaughter. To say he was surprised when said girl turned around and turned out to be a boy, and a handsome one at that, was an understatement. Bahorel was pretty sure his jaw had detached itself from his face and had suddenly become best friends with the floor. He wasn’t sure his eyes were working and reached up to rub them. How the fuck did that hair with those daisies even belong to a boy, and not to mention that fucking weird ass hipster sweater that was a really weird shade of orange and covered in tiny cacti. He was finally brought out of his daze when the boy spoke and holy shit what was going on? Bahorel was certain he was hearing angels or some shit because ok no, that voice did not match that body and that hair and those fucking daisies and that fucking sweater. He was shaken from his daze once again when he heard Feuilly say “Dude, fucking order something. I don’t have all morning to stand here.” He turned back to the barista and said “Coffee, black, one shot of espresso.” And the barista was smiling at him. He looked like a ray of sunlight and happiness and how the fuck was he this happy at seven in the morning? He put his cash on the counter, not even bothering to wait for his change and sat down on a puffy armchair next to Feuilly, who was still frowning and looking like he was going to murder everyone who walked by in the name of Poland.

It was another five minutes before the coffee reached them and he was starting to drift off. He was this close to punching whoever was in his face saying “Excuse me” in a really quiet, shy voice. He then remembered that he was in a coffee shop and it was rude to punch people in coffee shops at seven in the morning. Where on earth had his manners gone? He got out a quick “sorry” before glancing up to see what was going on. The barista was standing in front of him holding his coffee in one hand and some kind of hipster desert in the other (if he didn’t know what it was or how to pronounce it, it was hipster –insert item here-). “I….I thought you could use something to eat. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day after all and you looked tired so I got you this. I made it this morning so it’s fresh and it’s still hot and it has strawberries inside. I hope you like strawberries….If you don’t I can get you something else instead. I have one with chocolate sauce inside it and powdered sug…” He cut the boy off when he saw the deep red blush that had graced his cheeks. He was obviously embarrassed and rambling so Bahorel decided to be polite and say, “Hey, no. Strawberry is fine. I like strawberries just fine. Thanks dude.” Smooth Bahorel; call him dude, real fucking smooth.

He must have done something right because the boy's face seemed to flush even redder and his lips were pulling up into a shy smile, causing Bahorel to smile back. He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled at seven in the morning. Shit he couldn’t even remember what seven in the morning was actually like. Maybe seven in the fucking morning wasn’t too bad after all. He watched the boy walk away, noticing that his pants did not match that horrendous sweater at all. Since when the fuck did mint green go with that weird ass color orange? But who was he to judge on fashion. He wasn’t looking particularly good this morning, rocking a pair of black gym shorts (which he was pretty sure were torn on the ass), a random t-shirt (which simply said “No.” on it) and his beat up old work boots. Oh, and let’s not forget the newly acquired black eye from some douche who go a lucky punch in the night before. Yeah, he was pretty sure he was looking rough right now, but the barista didn’t seem to mind. Bahorel could see the barista from where he was “hiding” (yeah, not hiding very well) behind the counter, watching him to see if he enjoyed the strawberry filled hipster pastry dough thing, and oh my god what the fuck? Ok seriously? This pastry shit was the best thing he had ever tasted in his life. He turned to Feuilly and said, “Dude, you have to try this. Like, now.” Feuilly scoffed from behind his cup of coffee and reached for the pastry. He took a bite and looked at Bahorel with wide eyes. Yeah, that shit was good and now Feuilly knew it too. “Give it back you dick. I didn’t say you could have it. I said you could taste it. So give it here before I knock your teeth out.” “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want your stupid goddamn pastry. I’ll get my own pastry, Jesus Christ.” 

He was sucked back into his pastry bliss and didn’t even realize that Feuilly had gotten up until he sat back down, strawberry filled hipster pasty in hand. Bahorel laughed, nearly choking on the coffee he had just gulped down. He was sent into a coughing fit, Feuilly just sitting there staring at him while wearing that stupid fucking shit-eating grin. One of these days he would strangle the red head, but he was certain that it wasn’t proper to do so in public. When the coughing subsided, he leaned back in his armchair and took another sip of his coffee, glancing around the shop. He realized that it smelled like flowers because there were actually flowers fucking everywhere, who would have thought that flowers would make a place smell like flowers? He snorted and looked over to the counter. The barista was sitting on a barstool behind it and was smiling and writing happily in some kind of book. How could he even write this early? Bahorel was almost one hundred percent certain he couldn’t tell you what the word write even meant at this time in the morning if you asked. “Are you done staring at the guy or should I just let you look a little while longer? Because I’m ready to fucking go and if you wanna stay and gawk and be weird then I’m fucking leaving you here. I don’t have time for this.” Feuilly said to him as he stood up. “Shut the fuck up.” Bahorel shot back as he stood up as well. They reached the door and Bahorel chanced a glance back at the barista as he walked out. He was watching Bahorel and when he saw the other man look back at him, his face reddened and he quickly looked down at his book. Bahorel smiled and continued walking. He made it all the way home (which wasn’t really that far) when he realized he forgot to get the guy’s name. Damn it. Looks like another seven in the fucking morning coffee run tomorrow. 


	2. In which some progress is made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bahorel finally figures out the barista's name and gives him his number! Hoozah!!

It was another three days before Bahorel was actually able to get out of bed at seven in the fucking morning again. Every time his alarm clock rang he slammed him hand down on the snooze button and then proceeded to rip the cord from the wall. What could he say? He was definitely not a morning person. He knew that he could probably go to the coffee shop later than seven and he was sure he would be much better company but he didn’t want to chance it. He wanted to see the barista and he had been working in the early morning that day, so might as well try going in the early morning again. Bahorel groaned and rolled out of bed, falling onto the ground and smacking his head on the nightstand on the way down. “Fucking what the hell? Jesus Christ.” After five minutes of lying on the ground doing nothing he finally decided that since he was out of bed he might as fucking well get up. He grabbed a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and wandered out into the living room. He was still half a sleep by the time he reached the kitchen and stubbed his toe on the table. “OWWW! MOTHERFUCKING GODDAMN IT. FUCKING HELL!” He heard a loud thump and assumed that Feuilly had thrown something at the door, which was then followed by “HEY. MOTHERFUCK! WHY DON’T YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP SO SOME OF US CAN GET SOME REST?” He shot a glare at Feuilly’s door as he pulled on his work boots. On the way out he decided to slam the door as hard as possible, you know, just to make sure Feuilly was still alive. And he was. Bahorel could still hear Feuilly screaming and spewing a stream of cuss words at him as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

When he reached the shop he was still groggy and decided that he would find whoever thought it was a good idea to put bells on the door so it rang when it opened and beat their stupid fucking face in. They were seriously the loudest thing he had ever heard, and he was not trying to deal with that shit at seven in the fucking morning. He groaned when he saw the line. How did so many fucking people get up this early? Didn’t they have somewhere else to be? Like I don’t know, maybe not here? He glanced behind the counter and sure enough, there was the barista, making coffee and looking like a fucking unicorn just shit him out. Bahorel noted that today he was wearing a pink sweater with little white flowers on it and he had a yellow flower of some kind tucked behind his ear. Where the hell did this kid even buy his clothes? He was almost one hundred percent certain that they all came from some thrift shop that only old people and this kid went to. He continued to watch the barista as the line dwindled until he was finally at the front. He tried his best not to look like he was going to take out a knife and slit someone’s throat, though he wasn’t sure how well he accomplished that.

The barista turned around and smiled when he saw him. “Oh! It’s you! Would you like the same as before or would you like something else? I have some of those strawberry pastries that you and your friend had the other day in the oven. They are almost done cooking right now so they will be really hot and gooey and even better than they were before!” “Uh. Yeah sure. The same is fine. Same is good yeah. Great.” Bahorel frowned. He wasn’t sure if talking to this guy was hard or if it was because it was seven in the morning and his brain hadn’t started properly functioning yet. He pulled out a ten, left it on the counter, and walked over to the same puffy armchair he had previously sat in and plopped down. He started dozing off when he heard a crash come from his left. He jumped up immediately and hurried to the kitchen, where the sound had come from. He pushed open the doors and had to suppress a laugh when he saw what had happened. The barista was standing there covered in powdered sugar and wearing an adorable pout on his face. “What the fuck happened in here? Are you ok?” “I was reaching for a bowl and I guess I bumped the sugar when I grabbed it. The bag fell down and exploded! Now the pastries are covered in powdered sugar and they are ruined! I’m sorry; your friend said you really liked them the other day.” Bahorel laughed. He walked over to boy, who still had that adorable pout on his face, and reached for one of the sugar covered pastries. He took a bite and was certain his tongue just melted off because holy fucking shit they were hot. A little warning would have been nice. “Tastes fine to me. “ He said. The barista beamed at him and clapped his hands together, causing the sugar to fly into the air. “Oh! I better get clean up and fix this mess. I can’t go back out there covered in sugar!” 

Bahorel chuckled as he watched the boy skip off towards the back of the kitchen. He made his way back to his armchair and plopped back down, waiting for the boy to emerge once again. He was surprised when he appeared in front of him holding an extra pastry and his coffee. Bahorel took his coffee and watched as the boy dropped down into the chair next to his, noticing he still had some powdered sugar in his hair. He took a bite of the pastry he was holding and smiled. “You’re right. These taste even better when they are covered in sugar. Maybe I should accidently spill some every time I make them. Which isn’t very often but still…” Bahorel interrupted him by blurting out, “What’s your name?” He internally thanked God he didn't blurt out something like 'I bet you taste better when you are covered in sugar too'. “Oh! Jehan, my name’s Jehan. What about you?” “Bahorel.” “Bahorel huh? I like it. It suits you. It goes with the whole scary badass look. Not that that is a bad thing! No, I didn’t mean it was a bad thing. I like it. It’s cool. You’re cool. Unless you don’t like being called cool, then I won’t say that.” Bahorel could already tell that Jehan was one of those people that rambled and got really embarrassed when they were nervous. He was smiling like an idiot just staring at this guy’s face, watching the way his cheeks got redder and redder as he went on. It was cute, really fucking cute and maybe he liked it, just a little.

They talked for about five minutes before Jehan had to run back up to the counter and prepare orders for some customers who had just walked in. Bahorel was still grinning like an idiot and he was pretty sure people were looking at him like he was insane but who the fuck cares. He really liked this kid. Bahorel frowned when he looked back over to the counter. There was another boy with a mess of black curls piled on top of his head leaning over the counter and smirking at Jehan. Who the fuck was this guy? Surely this wasn’t the kid’s boyfriend. Bahorel could feel himself getting angrier as he watched the two converse over the counter. Why the fuck was he so jealous of this kid? He had only met Jehan a few days before so he didn’t really have the right to be jealous, but he was anyways. He was relieved when the boy took his coffee and walked out. 

Jehan came back over to him and sat down in the chair. “Sorry about that. Courfeyrac talks a lot. He’s not usually awake this early in the morning but he has some project to do for his class or something so he had to get up early.” “Oh. Is he your….boyfriend?” “What!?! Oh my gosh no! Oh no. Nononononono. Courfeyrac is just a good friend! I..I don’t have a boyfriend.” “Good. Good. That’s good then yeah. You wanna go out to dinner sometime?” Bahorel wasn’t sure where that had come from. He hadn’t planned on asking the boy out, hell he didn’t even know if the kid was gay(though he assumed he was from the way he was dressed and from the fucking flowers in his hair). The words just kinda spewed from his mouth like vomit. He was surprised when he heard a quiet “I would like that” come from the other boy. He couldn’t help but smile. He grabbed a napkin and a pen that was on the table next to him and wrote down his number. “Text or call when you get off. We can figure out a day and time then. Thanks for the coffee and food. I gotta head home to make sure Feuilly didn’t pass out and smother himself in his pillows. It was nice talking to you Jehan.” Bahorel stood up and walked towards the door. He turned back when he pushed it open to look at Jehan before he left. The boy was sitting there looking at the napkin he had handed him wearing a huge grin and there was a light dusting of pink covering his cheeks. Bahorel smiled and headed home. He didn’t show it, but he was pretty fucking excited and couldn’t wait to hear from Jehan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. They are finally getting somewhere. Date time next chapter! YAY!!! Hope you enjoyed it! Feedback is welcome! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


	3. In which a date occurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bahorel and Jehan go on a date, but not without a little drama!

Jehan texted Bahorel around noon and they decided to go to a small Italian restaurant that evening. Bahorel was going to pick him up at seven and drive there. He was currently pacing back and forth in front of his closet trying to decide what to fucking wear to this date. He couldn’t remember the last time he went on one, nor could he remember the last date he gave a shit about. He wasn’t one to try to impress others. He didn’t really care what anyone else thought about him because fuck everyone, if they had the nerve to comment on what he wore he would hit them. For some reason he cared about what Jehan thought, the boy with the odd taste in fashion and the flowers in his hair and the fucking adorable blush and gorgeous face. Bahorel couldn’t get him out of his head. 

Bahorel picked the only nice shirt he had, a black button up, and his nicest pair of jeans, which were frayed at the bottom but who gives a fuck. No one should be looking that close at his feet anyways. When he walked out his room Feuilly looked up from his painting with a cigarette sticking out of his mouth and said, “Well don’t you look fucking nice. Got a hot date with flower power?” Bahorel glared at him and shot back, “Shut the fuck up or fuck the fuck off.” Feuilly flipped him off, ashed his cigarette and turned back to his painting. Bahorel grabbed a beer from the fridge and twisted off the cap with his forearm. One beer defiantly wouldn’t hurt, shit maybe it would calm his damn nerves.

As seven approached Bahorel pulled on his work boots, which happened to be the only shoes he owned and headed out the door. It took about fifteen minutes to get to Jehan’s apartment. He arrived five minutes late but fuck it, he was close enough. Bahorel knocked on the door and waited. He was surprised when it wasn’t Jehan who answered. Instead it was a tall man with lanky arms and wild brown hair looking him over suspiciously. “Do you have a cold? The flu? Bird flu? Mumps? Measles? Anything contagious?” Bahorel stared at the man. What the fuck was this guy on about? “Uh…no I don’t think so?” “Oh. Okay! Good! Jehan that guy you were talking about is here. He says he isn’t sick but I put some hand sanitizer in your bag. Oh! And I put condoms in there!” Bahorel couldn’t hold back his laughter when he saw Jehan’s face. The boy had gone bright red at the mention of condoms and buried his face in his hands. After he regained some composure, Jehan grabbed his bag and rushed past, grabbing the door handle and slamming it shut, but not before a “Don’t be silly wrap your willy!” was shouted. Bahorel looked down at Jehan with a huge grin on his face. The other boy looked like he was going to keel over and die from embarrassment and it was the cutest thing Bahorel had ever seen. Bahorel finally got a chance to see what the other was wearing and hot damn did he look good. He had on a mint green cardigan that hung off of one shoulder and a pair of what looked to be fucking floral leggings. And did his ass look phenomenal in them? Fucking hell yes it did.

The car ride to the restaurant was filled with pleasant small talk about work, and school and hobbies. Bahorel learned that Jehan knitted but most of his clothes did in fact come from some thrift store that only he and old people shopped at. He also learned that Joly, the man who answered the door, was his roommate and a hypochondriac and that Jehan was only two years younger than him, at 25. When they arrived Bahorel held the door for Jehan and was graced once again with that beautiful blush the other boy, well man, often wore. They were seated at a small table with a candle in the middle and their waiter took their drink orders, beer for Bahorel and iced tea for Jehan. “Not much of a drinker? I hope you don’t mind if I drink.” Bahorel said when he heard the other's order. “Oh no. No I’m not much of a drinker but I don’t mind if you do. A lot of my friends drink even though Joly says they are all going to die from this disease or that. He actually got me to quit smoking because he wouldn’t shut up about how I was going to die and my lungs were going to turn all black.” Bahorel laughed and said “I don’t even think that would stop Feuilly from smoking. He chain smokes the fuck out of his cigarettes, especially when he is angry, which is one hundred percent of the time.” “Oh is that your friend from the store?” “Yeah the red head who looked just as angry as I did and loves Poland, and strawberry pastries. He calls you flower power.” “Why does he call me flower power!?!” Jehan said as he started blushing again. Bahorel couldn’t help but laugh and respond with “Isn’t it fairly obvious?”

Their waiter came back and they ordered. Jehan got some pasta shit that he pronounced perfectly. How the fuck he even knew how to say it was beyond Bahorel. He ordered a steak, which was much easier to pronounce. They continued chatting until their food arrived and ate in comfortable silence. Jehan got sauce on his cheek and Bahorel reached over the table to swipe it off with the pad of his thumb. Jehan’s eyes widened and his face reddened. Bahorel smiled and brought his thumb to his lips and licked off the sauce. “Mmmmm tastes delicious.” Jehan looked back down at his plate to try and cover up the blush. Bahorel took one more bite of his steak and asked, “Are you ready to go?” “Yeah, but I don’t want to go home yet, if that’s alright with you. I’m having a really nice time and I don’t want it to be over so soon.” Bahorel felt a flood of relief wash over him. He was fucking ecstatic that Jehan was having just as good of a time as he was.

Bahorel paid for dinner, which was fucking expensive but oh well. He deserved something nice every now and then, it’s not like he spent his money on anything other than fucking alcohol, groceries and coffee. They decided to go to a bar that was a few blocks away, one of Bahorel’s favorites. The company wasn’t bad and the alcohol wasn’t expensive and hopefully he wouldn’t have to fucking knock someone’s teeth out. They got to the bar and sat down at the counter. Jehan order some fruity shit and Bahorel got whatever beer was on tap. They were talking to each other, minding their own business when Bahorel overhead some guy behind him say, “Look at that little faggot. He’s even got flowers in his hair. I bet he likes getting fucked in the ass.” Bahorel let a breath out of his nose before he turned around and walked right up to the guy. “What was that?” “Oh you heard me. Have you come to defend your little faggot boyfriend?” Bahorel didn’t even have to think twice before punching the guy square in the jaw. He didn’t notice the guy’s friend swing his arm around to hit him. When he did he braced for impact, but the impact never came. Jehan had grabbed the guy’s wrist and decked him in the face, knocking the man onto his ass. If Bahorel wasn’t smitten before, he definitely was now and maybe he was just a little bit aroused, yeah let’s go with just a little bit. Who knew little Jehan with his fucking flowers and skin tight leggings could pack such a punch?

The bartender kicked the other men out and Bahorel and Jehan left shortly after paying for their drinks. Bahorel drove back to Jehan’s apartment and walked him to his door. As Jehan put in the key he noticed the man’s knuckles were cut, probably from punching that guy in the fucking jaw. “Hey. You hurt your hand. Do you want me to come in and help you patch it up? It would probably be easier if you didn’t have to do it yourself.” Jehan looked down at his knuckles and blushed. “Sure.” He muttered and Bahorel wasn’t positive he heard that right but he decided to follow the man inside anyways. Jehan wandered over to the kitchen and grabbed a first aid kit that was sitting on top of a larger first aid kit on the counter. “Joly wants to be a doctor. He always says it’s better to be safe than sorry. I think there is a first aid kit in every room of the apartment.” Jehan said as he sat down at the table diagonal from Bahorel. Bahorel chuckled as he opened the first aid kit and took out the gauze and some ointment. “You should probably wash that first. Who knows what kind of fucking shit that fucking asshole has in his dirty fucking mouth.” Jehan giggled, and yeah it was the most amazing sound Bahorel had ever fucking heard in his life. “You sound just like Joly, but your right. I don’t want it to get infected.”

Jehan went over to the sink and washed off his hand. When he finished he sat back down and Bahorel took his hand. He ran his fingers lightly over the small cuts and heard the other man suck in a quick breath before letting out a hiss. “Hurts?” he asked. “Y..yeah…only a little bit.” He chuckled and wrapped Jehan’s knuckles with gauze. He tapped it down and the brought the hand up to his mouth, looked into the other man’s eyes, and placed a soft kiss on the freshly covered wound. Jehan’s face went from pink to fire engine red in a matter of seconds and his lips parted. “All better?” “Y…yeah…it is now.” Bahorel grabbed the gauze and put it back in the first aid kit. He placed the kit back on top of the larger one and headed to the door. Jehan noticed he was leaving and he got up and walked to the door with him. “I had a really great time Jehan. I’m sorry about what those fucking douche bags said about you. I don’t think they will be doing much talking for a while but still, it was uncalled for.” “It’s ok. Thank you for defending me. If you didn’t hit that guy I was going to. I had a really great time in spite of that. I’d really like to see you again, if that’s ok.” Bahorel smiled and said, “I’d really like that too.” 

Bahorel turned to leave but Jehan had other ideas and grabbed his arm and spun him back around. He leaned up and gently pressed his lips on to Bahorel’s. The kiss was soft and sweet and Jehan tasted as delicious as Bahorel thought he would, like strawberries and sugar and fruity cocktails. When they parted Bahorel realized he had brought his hand up to the side of the other man’s face and was currently playing with loose strands of hair that had escaped his fishtail braid. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” Jehan said. With that, Bahorel turned and left, glancing back as he got down the hallway to see Jehan’s head sticking out the door. He grinned and gave a small wave, which Jehan returned before shutting the door and retreating inside. When Bahorel returned home he flopped down on the couch next to Feuilly and touched his lips, remembering the taste and feel of the lips that were there before. Feuilly was staring at him and Bahorel decided to punch him in his fucking arm, in an attempt to wipe that stupid all-knowing look off his fucking face. He went to bed even happier that night after receiving a text that said “:)”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is welcome! Sorry it took so long for me to update! Have been busy at work and haven't had much time to write.


End file.
